This past week, as we watched the Olympics on TV, I had to sit by quietly while my wife commented, with disturbing regularity, on all the young male athletes. She wasn't talking about scores, times, world records or even their medals, but about how well built they all were.

The gymnasts had incredible arms. The sprinters, beautifully muscled thighs. The beach volleyball players, of course, had it all, and showed it off. But the swimmers, with their 8-pack abs and high-tech Speedos, received the most attention. Just the other day, they announced that Olympian/amphibian Michael Phelps would be featured on corn flakes boxes, shirtless, showing off his muscles. My wife stared at the TV as they displayed a sample of the new box.

"Hmmm," she said. "I'm gonna have to start eating corn flakes!" My daughters, who were sitting nearby, started high fiving each other and saying, "Oh, yeah!"

I just stomped out of the room. Somehow, it's become perfectly acceptable for the wives of America to ogle young men, but it's not OK for their husbands? (To ogle young women, of course. I would never ever ogle young men -- not that there's anything wrong with it -- except for me, where it would be. I swear.)

If my wife sees a good looking FedEx man, for instance, she's free to comment. If a typical husband like, say, me, were to see a good-looking, say, waitress at a restaurant like, say, Chili's, he had better not only keep his mouth shut, he had better pretend, every single time the offendingly cute waitress walks by, to be stricken with temporary but total blindness.

Any husband who's survived in this business for any length of time gets just a little stressed out when a nice-looking woman comes walking down the street, knowing that every move is crucial. An appreciative glance, even an unappreciative glance, could cause major problems.

Looking away too obviously is also an admission of guilt, as you're indicating that you really did want to look, didn't you? I have taken to simply looking up at the sky, as if I were expecting rain or maybe keeping an eye out for a swarm of UFOs. During a visit to my son's college this spring, I almost walked into an intersection full of traffic.

Not so for women. When women look, it's cute. It's funny. Middle-aged women on the prowl, salivating over younger men, are commonly called "cougars." "American Idol" winner David Cook openly courts his cougar fans, raking in the cash while they jump up and down in their comfortable shoes. Middle-aged men who openly gawk at young women are called "creepy middle-aged guys."

I decided, after days and days of listening to my wife's lascivious comments about the male athletes, that I'd give her a little bit of her own medicine. Women's gymnastics were on, and sitting on the couch, I perked up.

"Hey, that little gymnast, what's her name?"

My wife shook her head, wondering how I could watch this for two days without knowing a single thing. The gymnast was, she said, Shawn Johnson. I nodded and smiled.

"You know," I said, smiling in a leering way, "she's really, really cute!"

My wife just stared, probably wondering if I'd had some sort of small stroke that might have affected my judgment and speech. My daughters looked at me, winced, and together said, "Ewwww!" and got up and left the room.

"See!" I said to my wife. "That's my point! It's unseemly when I do it, isn't it!"

My wife looked at me for a long moment, nodded, and walked out the door.

From now on, every time a nice-looking girl comes on TV, you'll find me on the couch, staring at the ceiling like I'm looking for falling plaster. There's nothing up there to look at, but at least I'll stay out of trouble.